Tie Another Knot
by generalfangirl
Summary: This was Finnick's first shot at being a mentor. It was Annie's only shot at winning the Hunger Games. Which would be better? Life as a victor, or death at the hands of the Capitol? FinnickxAnnie


**Hello! I'm generalfangirl! This is my FRESH START. Really. I really hope to finish this story. It's FinnickxAnnie. **

**Annie POV**

I'm at the beach at the crack of dawn. Unusually, it's deserted. But I suppose, why would anyone want to wake up on reaping day?

Unless you're the one who's going in for the Games.

Staring out at the rising sun, I feel the cool breeze in my hair. Drawing my knees up, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, inhaling the familiar scent of the sea.

I don't know how long I sit there, but suddenly I'm aware of someone approaching me. It must be Matt, the one who's going to be the male tribute this year. We were selected to participate this year by the trainers, who've observed us since we started training in the academy. I started at around ten years old. Matt started even earlier. As the years pass, the weaker ones are eliminated; leaving only a few by the time we are sixteen. Then, the trainers will choose who goes in. Most years, like this one, the tributes are eighteen, unless they want to take a risk, like Finnick Odair.

I turn, but to my surprise, it's not Matt.

It's Finnick Odair.

_The_ Finnick Odair, in all his glory.

Standing a few feet away from me.

"The sound of it's always the first thing you forget." I blink at him, clueless and in awe. The footage of him training from years ago is legend. Vids that we study. I remember training with him for a bit, because he was a year ahead of me. His fingers were the fastest at knots and his throw was the most accurate. His father was a fisherman; he had been working with nets and tridents his whole life.

"The sea," he explains, not very helpfully. He realizes that I still have no clue what he's talking about after a moment. "You're going in this year, aren't you? All the victors are told beforehand." I nod once, avoiding his eyes.

"It's always hardest to remember the sea," he says simply. I try not to gawk. Where is the cocky expression and seductive tone of his voice that is broadcasted on the television every other day? He sounds so normal, so…nice. Nice is not a word you usually use to describe Finnick Odair.

He is silent, allowing me to close my eyes and inhale the scent of the sea. I wait for him to add something, but his continued silence makes me nervous. Slowly, my brain formulates a response.

"I've been here every day of my life since the day I could walk. I'd guess you have too. Is it really that hard to remember?"

He chuckles, a bit ruefully. "You have no idea. Once you're in the arena, everything else seems far away. It's hard."

My eyes widen—I didn't expect him to be telling me about the arena. I don't expect him to tell me anything actually. Judging from the videos, Finnick spends the entire games with his various lovers. He doesn't mentor tributes.

He looks back at me for a second, then laughs. Really laughs. I quickly look away, but he's already getting up. "Guess I'm just part of the freakshow, then?" He turns to leave. "Better go get prepping. Don't want to give a bad impression." I'm not sure if he means himself or me.

I watch his slowly vanishing figure, until he turns a corner in the direction of his house in Victor's Village. Then I strip off my outer clothes and swim out to sea.

Home is no surprise. My father is still asleep. My mother is trying hard to look normal while cooking lunch. I don't understand why she was so troubled when she was informed that I would be participating this year. People go in every year; she should have accepted that when I first started training.

I remember her face, when I was selected. The horror in her eyes, the forced smile. She denies it, but I _know_ that she doesn't want me to go in. She's afraid that I'll lose. But I _won't_.

I avoid looking at her as I change without showering. The sea we live by is clean, and besides, I don't want to wash off the smell of the sea yet. I might not want to wash it off, ever, if Finnick Odair is to be believed. I get her to help me do my hair because I want to look presentable to the Capitol citizens on camera. She works diligently, not looking up.

I've already decided on a district token. It's a short piece of rope, long enough to be made into a knot around my wrist, but not enough to cause any real damage. Safe enough. Should pass inspection.

Twirling the rope around in my hands, I inspect my hair. My mother has braided it in places, wound tight with tiny seashells collected from the beaches. I nod in thanks, but she turns away quickly, not meeting my eyes. I try not to be bothered by this. I grab a bite and stand around for a while, inspecting my hair again, but I'm just stalling.

When I finally admit to myself that I can't stall any longer, I unzip the garment bag that has been placed on my bed. I haven't seen the dress yet, but it was tailored for me to be worn on reaping day, so I suppose that it'll be nice. What I don't surprise me, but I gasp anyway, because it seems appropriate. It's a lovely green, with slight tinges of blue. They must have planned my hairstyle with my mother beforehand- the simple waves of the dress will go perfectly with the shells in my hair.

I slip it on, careful not the crease it. It's beautiful. I'm not usually one to stand and admire clothes, but the academy must have hired all the best dressmakers in the district for this. Can't risk a bad impression.

I step out of the room and my mother gasps. "You look beautiful, honey!" I whirl around, judging her expression. She is genuinely impressed, I can tell, but there's a slight disapproval in her expression. Of course.

"All the Capitol citizens are definitely going to want to sponsor _you_." She forces a smile and shoos me out of the house. I take one last look at my house as I walk toward the Justice Building.

It's time.

**R&R? **


End file.
